Wishing
by AmanitaMuscaria
Summary: You may think differently of him after reading this ...


He'd always looked forward to going to Hogwarts, ever since he could remember.

He'd been left at Arabella's the first time his parents had taken Hera to Kings Cross.

He'd pestered his mother with questions - 'When's Hera coming home?' - 'When _is_ Christmas?' - 'How long 'till Hera gets back?'

Then, when Io went off, the same thing happened.

But by now, he knew there was something wrong with him.

When she thought he wasn't looking, he sometimes caught his mum's pitying eyes on him.

Over one summer break, when Io had been brought back from the village by an

odd woman with stringy hair and lots of beads and smelling sort of odd, he thought his parents would get angry; she grinned at him and showed the pink kitten she was carrying.

But the strange woman had been asked in for tea, and when she left a few minutes later, she wore a vague expression. Mind you, she didn't look all that different from when she'd arrived.

They'd both teased him, his two bigger sisters. Sometimes, when he was running, and winning a race against them, he'd just trip, for no reason. Sometimes, he couldn't find his teddy, even if he knew he'd only just put him down a moment ago on that chair. Sometimes, his ice cream melted much faster than theirs, and he hardly got two mouthfuls before it was all down his front and melted on the floor.

His dad would cuddle him and say, 'Don't worry about it, old man, you've got talents of your own, I'm sure we'll find them.'

But he never seemed to find any talents any of them found as interesting or as praiseworthy as his sisters' first Transfiguration of a stone into a toad, or flying the old broom they'd found in the shed, or making rosepetals fall out of a clear blue sky in winter.

He'd tried.

He'd tried really hard, running with the broom but it never flew.

The stone just sat there, and if he squinted, it sometimes looked a little like a toad, but it never jumped or croaked.

And only rain or snow fell from the sky when he tried, and the sky was never clear blue.

He helped his mum in the kitchen, washing up the pots, or making some of the mixtures until she used her wand. He learned lots from his father, sorting through people's old things, cleaning pictures and rebinding books until his dad used his wand. He liked going with his dad to the old musty houses where people had died, sometimes the relatives were sad, and sometimes the relatives were sharp and mean, and sometimes there was just a grey Ministry man. He always stayed close to his father in the houses, most people called him his dad's shadow.

His dad would collect the things up, and then they'd Apparate home.

It got lonely once both his sisters had gone to Hogwarts, and by then, he'd realised he wouldn't be going when he got to be eleven. He didn't say anything about it anymore, and his parents didn't say anything either. He swallowed all the bright hope he'd had, and concentrated on helping his mum and dad.

His sisters had gone off to jobs, Io as an Auror, and Hera to be a mediwitch. He stayed at home, not really knowing what else to do. He'd tried getting a job in the village, just helping in a local shop framing pictures, but the shopowner was suspicious of some of the mixtures he used to glue the frames (he was supposed to use some white stuff in a bottle that didn't work half as well as his dad's mix), and he didn't have any conversation. The owner, Mr. Bates, had asked him, the first day, 'What school did you go to, then?', and he'd said, 'Mum taught me'.

Next day, Mr. Bates had asked if he'd watched Top of the Pops last night - he hadn't known what Bates was talking about.

At the end of the week, Mr. Bates had told him he wasn't needed anymore.

He'd tried one or two more jobs - the only one where he stayed more than a week was in the chicken processing factory - but the work was too heavy for him, and he had to stop after three weeks, and could hardly move for a week after that.

So he stayed at home and helped his dad clear houses.

Until the night there was a loud knock on the door, late at night. He was a young man now, not big and strong, but he would have fought, and defended his parents.

But as he reached his bedroom door, a green light flashed up around the doorframe, and when he'd got downstairs, they both were dead.

For a few days, he was in a daze, not really taking in what the Ministry were saying, not really understanding what had happened, not knowing, and frightened of not knowing, and more frightened of admitting to himself that he didn't know what to do. Hera and Io both offered him a place to stay, but that was London, and he didn't know London, and he didn't feel comfortable with them anyways.

And then Albus Dumbledore had arrived.

He'd seen Professor Dumbledore coming up the lane, and realised who he must be, from Hera's descriptions.

He didn't dare hope - or even think.

But Professor Dumbledore had come in, and sat down, and had tea with him.

And then, he had offered him the one thing he'd always longed for.

Argus was finally going to Hogwarts.


End file.
